Gone was the fun-loving boy she so clearly remembered. In his place, she had found a jaded rake. He was handsome, of course—if anything, more rakishly handsome than before. His years in town had given him a polish that only a complete Corinthian could acquire. His morning coat of blue superfine, his snug buff trousers, and his striped waistcoat fit his lithesome figure like a glove. His ebony hair, cropped fashionably short, had not one single lock out of place.
Seeing him outside the Abbey with his air of arrogant ennui, Christina had felt an urgent need to tuck her unruly wisps of hair beneath her hat, but then her temper had been aroused. When presented to her, Ned had made her his deepest bow, a sure sign of irony. He had looked her over with a lecherous gleam he probably used to frighten away young damsels on the catch. As if she had designs on him!
Certainly, he seemed to have no memory of the day he had held her on his lap.
The boyish laughter was completely gone from his eyes. In its place, all that remained was a cynical glint. No warmth. Nothing but a harsh self-regard.
“...then also on thy part take heed that this Child learn the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, and all other things ...."
Christina saw Ned's eyes grow round, and she stifled a giggle. For a hardened rake, these would be onerous pledges indeed. She doubted he would make the slightest effort to keep them.
But no matter, she thought, gazing over at Robert Edward. With her for a godmother, he needed no one else, least of all a selfish rogue like the Earl of Windermere.
“I will by God's help."
Ned sounded as if he needed some powerful help right now.
* * * *
Ned had begun to perspire. If he had known the herculean burden this office would be, he might never have accepted the honor that had been thrust upon him. He'd had no idea that godfatherhood meant anything. He could not remember who his own godparents were, or, for that matter, if he had them. But now that he knew Little Ned, there could be no turning back. The boy was clearly going to need him. With Miss Prim and Proper for a patroness, he had to have someone looking out for his back.
“Grant that he may have power and strength to have victory, and to triumph, against the devil, the world, and the flesh."
“Amen,” Ned said loudly. He felt he could drink to that, if a drink were available.
“Lift up your hearts."
Surprisingly, Ned's heart did feel a gentle lift. There was nothing like a fresh challenge to get one going, no matter how great the sacrifice. Still, he would have to consult with an authority to see just how far these oaths were meant to apply to his own conduct....
The archbishop had moved to take Robert Edward from Louisa. The boy was all done up in white satin and lace. Ned would never have believed how sweet a boy could look in such a rig-out.
Then, before Ned's thoughts could drift any farther in that pleasant direction, Lord Robert Edward began to howl.
Ned gave a start, but he stopped himself just in time from reaching for the boy.
The archbishop seemed to feel there was no cause for alarm. He went right on with the service, ignoring the fact that the Most Honourable the Marquess of Drayton's screams were growing louder. And louder.
Little Ned doesn't like to be held that way, you dolt!
Ned barely managed to contain his temper. Louisa and Robert were turning pale. Even Miss Perfect had begun to look wan.
Bet they don't have noises like that at her select ladies’ seminary, Ned thought with a painful wince. Let's hurry up and get this over.
“Name this Child."
At last, they had come to the good part.
“Robert Edward Charles.” As he said the boy's given names, Ned's chest filled with pride, which was spoiled only slightly by the knowledge that he had to share the honor with Little Miss Perfect.
Oh, well. The chit was certain to marry in short order, and then he would have Little Ned to himself.
“Robert Edward Charles, I baptize thee in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."
Relieved at what appeared to be the end, Ned heaved a sigh, but his relief was cut short when the archbishop started up again, “We receive this Child ...."
The service went on and on, but now it was accompanied by the baby's shrill cries. Ned felt his nerves begin to shatter. Heat and chill coursed through his veins. He had to stand pinned to the Abbey floor while Little Ned grew so red he bordered on the purple. Ned wondered how Louisa could bear to allow this terrible torture to go on.
Four more prayers. Then five.
One had to hand it to Little Ned, Ned recognized. He certainly was a trooper. Wellington, himself, could not have battled for so long.
“Grant that you be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man ...."
The boy had strength enough already. No diminishment of tears no matter how many prayers he had to endure.
Ned felt exhausted though, as if he had drunk for days on end and wrung out his insides. Then the archbishop said, “Amen” again, and Louisa rushed to take her baby. Robert Edward's shrieks turned quickly to gasping sobs. A blessed sigh issued from both godparents.
Ned glanced Christina's way and saw how stricken she appeared. Gone was the English bloom from the rose; she looked almost green.
What right did she have to turn green over Robert Edward? Poor boy. It wasn't his fault!
“Shall I take him for you?” Ned asked Louisa. “You must be exhausted.” His hands fairly itched to hold the baby.
“No, thank you, Ned.” Louisa appeared to be slowly recovering. The baby's sobs had turned into hiccups. They could all go home.
Ned felt the need for strong drink. He would head straight for his club douse his shaken feelings, and hope his nerves would recover one day.
“You could do one thing for us, however,” Louisa said. “Robert and I must go directly to call on my uncle and aunt. They will want to hear right away how the baptism went.” Louisa's former guardians had been too invalid to come. “We would be very grateful if you could entertain Christina. Perhaps a drive around the park?"
Louisa flashed him an innocent smile.
But Ned could not be fooled. He grinned back, doing nothing to hide the irony in his response. “Of course, my dear. I would be delighted to show young Lady Christina around. Robert, I presume you have no objections?"
But Robert was absently frowning. It was easy to see he had been unnerved by his baby's cries. He looked as if he needed a bracer, but poor old fellow had to brave the in-laws instead.
Ned decided to take pity on him. No sense in teasing the fellow after all; this was Louisa's scheme.
“Uncle Ned will take good care of her, never fear.” He offered Christina his arm and patted her hand in an avuncular manner. “Come along, then, Lady Chris."
* * * *
Uncle Ned?
Christina could barely contain her indignation as she accepted Ned's escort from the Abbey. She did not like to take orders. She chafed under pretense. But more than anything, she abhorred condescension.
In her gaol-like school, however, she had learned to hide a full range of emotions. She smiled sweetly up at Ned and was her most demure as he handed her into his waiting carriage.
They drove to the park in silence. Christina folded her hands in her lap like the veriest schoolgirl, determined to bore the very dickens out of Ned. She was tempted to exclaim over the sights to emphasize her naiveté, but in her frazzled state, she was not sure she could achieve the proper note. She was still a bit unsettled by the baby's cries. If she had been Louisa, she would have snatched him from the priest, archbishop or no.
“What a perfect day for a drive.” Ned's words, issued in a sarcastic drawl, broke into her musings. “Thoughtful of Louisa to suggest it."
The day was anything but perfect, as Christina could see. Still in the midst of winter, the trees stood lifeless and bare. A bone-chilling breeze was gusting off the Thames, making her shiver in s
pite of the woolen rugs piled high on her lap.
Christina was agreed that Louisa's subterfuge had not been very subtle, and she thought it as futile as Ned obviously believed it to be. Determined, however, not to show that she had detected his irony, she replied demurely, “Yes, my lord."
“Are you quite warm?"
“Yes, my lord."
“Was your journey to London pleasant?"
“Yes, my lord."
Ned cocked a dark look her way. “You're a prodigious’ agreeable chit, an't ye?"
“I try to be, my lord."
Her sickly sweetish tone drew a suspicious glance from him, but after studying her profile to no effect, Ned shrugged and chirruped to his horses.
They were a beautiful team, Christina noticed, as they swept into the park—two well-muscled bays with a smooth, long stride and strong, arched necks. Confident of her knowledge of horseflesh, Christina could see that Ned had chosen them for their gait rather than for show. Matched greys would have been more fashionable, but this pair performed as if they had been stitched together at the shoulder.
“You have a fine pair of horses, my lord,” she could not keep herself from saying.
“Indeed I do."
“May I drive them?” If he ever saw her skill, it would put a stop to his condescension.
A garbled sound came from Ned, and for a moment she thought he might choke on shock.
“No, Lady Chris,” he finally managed. “I very much regret that you may not."
“Why?"
“Because you are a girl, and these are my bays. You couldn't handle them if you tried."
“Is that so?” With an effort, Christina struggled to keep the innocence in her tone. “I am accounted to be something of a whip, my lord."
“By whom?"
“By my groom."
Ned's lips turned up smugly at the corners. “One's servants are not always the most impartial of judges, as I am sure you will agree, my dear."
Christina fumed, but, eyes downcast, she made a timid reply, “I am certain you are right, my lord."
Ned drove on, but Christina seethed with offense. That made two slights now, two intolerable insults that she needed to avenge. Uncle Ned indeed!
Never behindhand when the occasion called for revenge, she searched about for the first opportunity to take it.
Despite the cold weather, the park was not totally devoid of company this morning. Here and there, she spied a gentleman exercising his mount. Surely one of them could be useful in a pinch if she could only think of a way to punish Ned for his insufferable arrogance.
Ned had reached the end of the row, and now he turned his horses into the wind. Through stinging eyelids, Christina scanned the park. The turf was grey and lifeless, but so wide and open, she quickly formed an idea.
As Ned gave his bays more rein, she surreptitiously reached into her reticule and pulled out a handkerchief. Before he could glance her way, she discreetly dropped it by her side.
The wind caught the linen and blew it backwards, but even so, Christina waited until they had traveled a pace before sounding the alarm.
“Oh, my!"
Ned turned with a start. “What is it?"
“I am afraid I have lost my handkerchief.” Christina craned her neck as if to search behind them and put one hand to her lips. “Oh, dear. I do believe it is way back there."
“No matter. I am certain you have another."
Christina scowled inwardly. She might have known he'd be no gallant.
“But I am afraid I don't. At least ... not like this one.” She sniffed. “My dearest grandmother, God rest her soul, embroidered it for me. I am quite attached to it."
Ned frowned and gave her a look of disbelief. “You're attached to a handkerchief?"
Christina nodded. She had a gift, and she used it now, of making her eyes turn red at the rims. It was one of the advantages of being blond. With this cold wind blowing on her face, however, she imagined they looked quite pitiful already.
“Oh, yes,” she said with a sigh. “It is utterly irreplaceable. If you could just fetch it for me, I would wait for you right here. I should be most grateful."
Ned cleared his throat in a disgruntled manner. He brought his horses to a stop and turned to glance around. Against the bleak landscape, the handkerchief was scarcely more than a white speck in the distance.
“I shall certainly not leave you here. We shall turn and go back."
Christina kept the sweet smile pasted on her lips even while worrying that Ned's plan would spoil her own. If he could scoop the kerchief up without bothering to descend from the carriage, then she would have to come up with a different manner of revenge.
She ought to have called out sooner, she thought, but of course, she had expected him to stop immediately as any gentleman should. She ought to have known he would act like a scoundrel.
They retraced their steps at a spanking pace. Ned was leaning to the outside, lining up his horses with the kerchief so he could bring them to a halt at precisely the right spot. Christina could see that such a feat would be easy to one who drove so well. She thought of distracting him to spoil his aim, but was sure he would simply back the bays until he was right again.
Disappointed, but not defeated, she watched him guide the team to a perfect stop. He was leaning down for the kerchief, when a sudden gust whipped it from his grasp and carried it off into a ditch.
Ned muttered curses under his breath.
Christina cheered inside, but pulled her lips into a pout. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear. What a shame!"
Ned's brows contracted into a look of disbelief.
For the briefest moment, Christina worried that she might have overplayed her empty-headed role. Schooling her features into a more credible expression, she offered, “I shall hold the reins for you while you fetch it."
Ned hesitated, eyeing his bays with reluctance.
She added, “Surely you can trust me to do that much.” She gave him a wistful smile.
Sighing, Ned made a sign for her to hold out her hands. He took the reins and wrapped them properly through her gloved fingers.
“Hold them steady,” he warned her. “They're a bit frisky because of the weather. And make no sounds to them, mind."
Christina nodded, the very image of the dutiful schoolgirl.
Ned glanced at her uneasily before leaping to the ground. Something about her struck him as suspicious. It was hard to believe that anyone, even a girl fresh out of school, could talk like such a ninny. But he could not refuse to retrieve her property, nor could he make her fetch it herself.
The kerchief was only a few steps away, but in a depression, too low to reach from his carriage box. A fresh gust chilled the back of his neck. The wind was turning brutal. As he reached down for the handkerchief, he cursed it and Louisa's scheme for dragging him out to the park.
Just behind him, he heard a “Giddap!” A slap of the reins made him pivot in time to see his horses bolting.
“Hey!"
He took off at a run, but the bays outdistanced him. Christina was leaning forward in the box, for all the world as if she were urging them on.
Ned glanced quickly about. Two men were cantering towards him. He ran to stand in front of them and motioned for them to stop.
“What the devil!"
Recognizing one of the men, Ned shouted to him, “Levington, your horse!"
“Is that you, Windermere? What's towards?” Startled, the other man's horse began to dance.
Ned evaded its flying hooves. “Hurry man, I've got to catch that girl. She's got my team.” He reached for Levington's reins, but Levington held onto them while he scanned the park.
“A girl, is it? I'll stop her for you."
“No!” Ned shouted, but his protest came too late.
Spinning his horse, the blackguard escaped Ned's grasp and set off at a gallop after Christina.
“Confound him!” Ned turned to the next fellow, a stranger to him. “Sorry, but
I am taking your horse."
“The devil you are!"
Ned took no chances this time. He seized the fellow's reins and his jacket and, in one movement, yanked him from his saddle.
As the gentleman hit the ground, an oath issued from him. “You will name your seconds, sir!"
“Very happy to oblige"—Ned leapt into the saddle and spurred the stranger's horse—"as soon as I throttle that imp."
Surprisingly, Christina seemed to have come to no harm yet. She had somehow managed to turn his bays before they dashed into the street. Hundreds of yards in front of him, she was rolling along the lane, the reins still gripped between her fingers, her body relaxed. The carriage was turning in a wide circle. At a suspiciously steady pace.
Levington had nearly caught up with her. With that head start, and with her circular path, he had cut across the turf and come to a halt in front of her.
“No, you idiot!” Ned swore to himself. Then, just as he had anticipated, his horses shied from the sudden assault. They swung to the left. Christina made a grab for the seat with both hands, losing the reins in the process.
Now, the bays bolted in earnest.
Ned spurred the horse beneath him. In less than a minute he had closed the gap. Keeping clear of his team's line of vision, he came alongside them and grabbed the ribbons, before restraining his mount.
The stranger's horse resented this rough treatment. He tried to veer away, but Ned held him steady. With his thighs and forearms taut, his muscles wrenching, he finally dragged his frightened bays to a stop.
“Mercy!” Christina's relieved tone would have made him laugh if he had not been so furious.
“What the devil did you mean by—!"
“Madam, are you all right?” Levington galloped up, and his hasty motion set the bays to rearing and kicking again. Ned was nearly jerked off his seat.
“Levington, you ass, stop spooking my horses!” Ned shouted, as he settled them down again.
“Why, Uncle Ned! What a thing to say—”
Ned whipped around in shock at this mode of address, just in time to see Christina extend her hand to the other gentleman.
A Pair of Rogues Page 3
